


Dreaming in Vibrant Color

by eqyptiangold



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Beta Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 18:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20214097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eqyptiangold/pseuds/eqyptiangold
Summary: Food starts showing up in Derek's fridge and his laundry is increasingly holding less and less of his own clothes. One day, he arrives home to find his underwear and sock drawers have been pushed into one, and the newly vacated drawer is haphazardly stuffed with half-folded plaid shirts and hoodies. Derek chooses not to think about Stiles rooting through his boxers.





	Dreaming in Vibrant Color

**Author's Note:**

> un-beta'd, but i'll probably run through tomorrow and edit it quickly.
> 
> also in this 'verse everyone is in one pack, with derek as alpha because i say so. enjoy!
> 
> (TW: bc the tag apparently isn’t working for some reason, i’ll warn here that this fic is tagged major character death!!)

Derek isn’t sure when Stiles started appearing at his apartment--knocking irritatingly just to smirk when his alpha answered the door with a glare bearing no heat--before strutting in like he owned the place. What Derek is sure of is that food starts showing up in his fridge and his laundry is increasingly holding less and less of his own clothes. One day, he arrives home to find his underwear and sock drawers have been pushed into one, and the newly vacated drawer is haphazardly stuffed with half-folded plaid shirts and hoodies. Derek chooses not to think about Stiles rooting through his boxers. 

Weeks go by and, strangely enough, amidst the threats constantly attacking Beacon Hills and the dreadful, painful weight on Derek’s shoulders as he tries and tries to be a competent alpha, a small ray of light shines into his life. Somehow, a friendship develops between him and Stiles. When Derek is too harsh to his betas, just so  _ desperate _ to train them so they can be safe, so they can protect themselves--so they don’t face the same miserable end as his family--Stiles chastises him. He yells at Derek, and then he sits with him. He provides a warm presence against Derek’s side as the werewolf shakes and fights to control the temper that wants to flare up even though he knows that Stiles is just trying to help--knows that Stiles might be the only one keeping this threadbare pack together. 

When the pack comes back from a fight against rival alphas that had been trying to encroach on the Hale territory, battered and bloody, Derek heads for his apartment and leaves his betas in Deaton’s care. It’s his fault they’re injured. If he was a better teacher to them, if he had a better claim over the land, none of this would have happened. He drives slowly, careful to mind the deep gashes that tear across his chest like the red ribbons his sisters used to tie into their hair. Staggering, Derek walks into his building and nearly collapses on the stairwell. He just barely manages to catch himself on the railing, and lets out a long, shaky breath. 

Just as he’s about to force himself up onto the first step, Stiles’ voice pours into the room. “You’re an idiot,” he says, sounding tired and resigned. Derek can’t focus long enough to track his footsteps, but Stiles materializes at his side in an instant, plaid shirt stained crimson from the blood of both friends and enemies. Thankfully, none of it belongs to Stiles. He wraps an arm around Derek, taking as much of the werewolf’s weight as he can manage, and they hobble up the stairs together. 

* * *

_ Derek rolls over in his bed, wrapping around a pillow even as he continues to sleep. A small smile spreads across his relaxed features and small waves of happiness roll off him, winding through the scent of salt and cold that has wrapped around his room. _

* * *

Stiles asks Derek out first. 

He’s lying on his stomach on Derek’s bed and supposedly researching, but he can’t seem to stop fidgeting and glancing over every few minutes. Derek watches from his desk, peering over an old grimoire, as Stiles gnaws at his plush lower lip until it’s red and swollen as if the newly turned eighteen-year-old has been kissing someone for extended periods of time. It’s distracting. Each time Stiles glances up, Derek catches his eyes and waits expectantly to hear whatever it is that has him so wound up. And each time, Stiles opens his soft cherry mouth, before clamping it shut and swivelling his head back to his laptop. 

Finally, Derek gives up on reading. He rises to his feet and stretches, arms extending above his head until his back cracks. When he looks back at Stiles, the teenager’s eyes are glued to the strip of skin exposed by Derek’s shirt sliding up. Pointedly, Derek pulls the gray Henley back down, and Stiles’ eyes snap back up to his face, cheeks stained pink. Derek lifts Stiles’ legs, seats himself on the bed, and drops the teenager’s feet into his lap. 

Breathing in what’s clearly a preparatory breath, Stiles shuts his laptop and rolls onto his back. “Do you want to go out with me?” he asks bluntly. 

Derek blinks. Although Stiles frequently let off waves of honey sweet and deliciously spicy arousal--particularly when Derek would come out of the shower clad in nothing but a towel, or when the two of them sparred and Derek would pin Stiles, bodies flush--Derek had put it down to teenage hormones. He had accepted that the best he could hope for from Stiles was friendship, possibly with benefits if Derek had been willing to submit himself to the torture of having Stiles without  _ really _ having him. He hadn’t. 

“On a date?” Derek clarifies, feeling like the world has been pushed off its axis. Or maybe it had been off all this time, and Stiles has just helped it back on track. 

“Yes,” Stiles replies, patiently, despite the obvious room for him to joke at Derek’s expense. “If you want.” He looks the way he does in battle, sometimes; after stressing over a spell for weeks, the spark would cast it with the expression of someone that didn’t have the capacity to worry anymore. It’s a look of acceptance, resignation; either the spell would work or it wouldn’t. Either Derek will say yes or he won’t. 

“Yeah,” Derek manages, absently rubbing Stiles’ ankle as he rights himself in this newly balanced universe in which the gorgeous, funny young man before him wants to date. “Yes, I mean. I’d- I’d like that,” he stutters, biting his lip. 

Stiles grins, smile shining brilliantly as happiness seemed to smooth the purple-blue smears under his eyes and the weary exhaustion that sometimes clings to him. “I really want to kiss you,” he admits softly, “but I think we’re supposed to save it for the first date.” 

“Nothing else in our lives is normal,” Derek reasons, eyes slipping down to Stiles’ carmine mouth. “Why should this be?” 

Stiles crawls into his lap, straddling Derek as he kisses him, slow and sweet until they’re melting with it. 

* * *

_ Derek hums softly, blissfully, even as he continues to sleep. He clutches the pillow to his chest like a lover, despite the thick scent of salt clinging to its seams.  _

* * *

Derek asks Stiles to be his boyfriend after the first date. After knowing each other--and both secretly lusting after the other--for three years, it feels right. They kiss in Derek’s doorway, and it’s a sweet, innocent peck, before they take it into the bedroom and Derek fucks Stiles until they’re both breathless. 

Two weeks go by, and the new couple spends every possible second together. Stiles joins Derek when he goes grocery shopping, and they buy food as if they’re living together in Derek’s apartment. Scott wants to play video games, so Stiles asks if Derek can tag along. The alpha sits behind Stiles on the floor, legs spread for the thinner man to sit between them as he slaughters zombies. The annual fair rolls into town for a few days, and Stiles drags Derek onto every ride. Derek wins his boyfriend a giant stuffed dog and they kiss on the top of the ferris wheel with Arf Vader squished between them. 

Derek meets Stiles’ dad when the three of them eat dinner together, and Derek offers to wash dishes and clear the table. He’s polite and charismatic and charms Sheriff Stilinski, but it isn’t until the older man sees the way Derek listens to Stiles talk with rapt attention and affection in eyes that the sheriff shakes his hand and says, “You can call me John. You’re welcome here anytime, kid.” 

Stiles waits until they’re alone to jump on Derek and kiss the hell out of him. “You were so perfect,” he pants, walking Derek up to his bedroom wall. Derek’s back hits the wall and Stiles hops up, wrapping his lanky legs around Derek with complete faith in the alpha to hold him up. They kiss quickly, desperately; Stiles licks into Derek’s mouth and tugs at his hair until the older man groans softly. 

Wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist and squeezing his ass, Derek pushes forward until he’s standing, rather than leaning on the wall, with 160 pounds of cute brunette boyfriend in his arms. “Oh, that’s so hot,” Stiles whispers, tracing a vein in Derek’s bicep. His dazed expression, pupils blown against soft brown eyes, is enough to convince Derek to slow in his trek to the bed. Adjusting his stance, Derek holds his boyfriend up with one hand and rids them of their shirts with the other. 

Stiles  _ moans _ . “Oh, my god,” he murmurs, dragging his hands all over Derek’s chest and arms in a caress that makes arousal bubble and roll low in Derek’s stomach. “You’re so hot, fuck, Der,” Stiles pants. 

It’s enough to make the alpha growl lowly. “Bed,” he says, taking the last few steps to drop them onto the bed with their skin flush against one another. 

“Take your pants off,” Stiles insists, clumsy hands scrambling for Derek’s belt and unbuckling it. The tease of deft fingers against Derek’s clothed dick makes him shudder. He quickly takes over for Stiles and strips them both, quickly and efficiently. 

In an instant, Stiles’ hands wrap around Derek’s cock and they both groan softly. “I love you,” Derek pants, the words slipping past his lips before he can think them through. 

Stiles’ jaw drops, just slightly. “I can’t believe you’re saying the L-word for the first time while my hand is on your dick,” he groans softly, though a brilliantly affectionate smile spreads across his face. “I love you too, you idiot. I love you so much.” Derek drags him into another kiss. 

* * *

_ Derek buries his face into the pillow, a soft smile still on his sleeping features as he curls around it protectively.  _

* * *

“Do you want kids?” 

Derek slowly looks up from the eggs he’s scrambling to look at Stiles, raising his eyebrows. “Why do you ask?” he responds warily. Catching sight of his boyfriend’s expression, Derek turns off the stove and puts his eggs aside, hoping they’ll still finish cooking properly even after he throws in an intermission. “Why?” 

“There was a kid there when I was in the store,” Stiles clarifies. He brandishes the ketchup bottle in his hand; both he and Derek have an affinity for ketchup on their eggs, even though the rest of the pack scrunches up their noses whenever they happen to see it. Earlier, when Derek realized they had run out, he’d thrown a tenner at Stiles and asked him to get more. “She and her moms were in line ahead of me and, I don’t know. I couldn’t stop thinking about us with a little baby sourwolf.” Stiles tugged distractedly at the hem of his shirt, one of Derek’s old t-shirts that had shrunk in the wash. “Not right away, obviously. Just… one day.” 

“Of course I want kids with you,” Derek says, walking over to his boyfriend and dragging him into a hug. Stiles noses at his collarbone, scent-marking. “But who says they’d be biologically mine? It would be a crime to not at least attempt to replicate this nose.” Derek boops said nose. Stiles snickers and scrunches up his face, and it’s absolutely adorable. 

“How many kids do you want?” he asks. 

Derek hums thoughtfully, tracing a path along Stiles’ jawline as he thinks. “At least two,” he says eventually. “Even when I hated my siblings,” his voice cracks, but only a little bit, “I would have done anything for them.”

Stiles nods agreeably, gently kissing Derek’s forehead. “We could have one kid from me and one from you,” he offers. “Actually, how would a surrogate work with werewolf babies?” 

Completely forgetting his eggs, Derek pulls himself up onto the table and pulls Stiles in to stand between his legs. “It would just display as a regular pregnancy,” he replies. “After they baby was born, they wouldn’t have claws or fangs or anything until they were at least three or four years old. The only difference between werewolf babies and human babies is that ‘wolves like to scent-mark and they have a few more ‘wolf instincts. It’s also more likely to have twins or triplets with werewolves.” 

“Aw,” Stiles coos fondly. “Imagine two baby sourwolves.” He pinches Derek’s cheeks, prompting the alpha to grab his hands and pull them down into his lap. 

Absently toying with Stiles’ fingers, Derek asks, “Would you be okay with more than two kids?” 

“Duh,” Stiles responds instantly. “We can try one from each of us first. Depending on whether we get twins or not, we can keep trying after if we want to, right?” Derek nods. “Shit. Will we have to buy a house?” 

“We’ll build one,” Derek replies. “We could live out in by the old property,” he offers, pushing past the twinge of pain at the mention of the burned skeleton of his childhood home. 

“Perfect,” Stiles responds. Derek can’t stop the wide smile that covers his face. 

* * *

_ Happiness pours from a slumbering Derek in waves, slowly beginning to break away at the thick scent of cold and smoke and salt that fills his bedroom.  _

* * *

Derek and Stiles never really leave behind the honeymoon phase after they start officially dating. Even after the sight of their grumpy alpha wrapping fondly around Stiles on the couch has stopped deserving nonplussed looks from the betas. Even after their one year anniversary that features a dinner so romantic and perfect it almost hurts, followed by what is probably the highlight of Derek’s sex life. By the time two years rolls around, Derek is starting to realize that their intense infatuation might be more than just the beginning phase of a relationship. 

Five years pass together and Stiles still makes his skin light up; he still manages to delightfully surprise and excite the alpha. The couple is sleepily cuddled together, and watching the shitty reality show that Stiles has recently developed a passion for, when Derek suddenly  _ knows _ . No one else is ever going to be as important as Stiles. The heavens could open up and drop down Derek’s perfect soulmate, crafted by the cosmos, and if it wasn’t Stiles, Derek would reject them without a second thought. Stiles is  _ it _ for him. 

Two weeks later, Erica, Scott, and Lydia accompany Derek on a two-hour drive out of Beacon Hills to find a store with the perfect ring for Stiles. Although Scott is Stiles’ best friend, his opinions tend to vary from, “Isn’t that the same ring as the last three?” to the only slightly more helpful, “I dunno… that one just feels  _ wrong _ , you know?” Thankfully, Lydia and Erica both have much more concrete opinions on each wedding band that the saleslady shows them. They exchange whispered conversations with Derek, about the different metals and their ability to withstand damage from both the supernatural threats that occasionally still plagued Beacon Hills and Stiles’ general clumsiness and his predicted inability to remember to remove the ring. 

By the time Derek has chosen a wedding band, a different saleslady has clocked in to replace the previous one and Stiles has called twelve times and sent enough texts to nearly drain Derek’s battery. His excuse for leaving town with part of the pack in tow had been a recon mission, which Derek did actually do sometimes when he sniffed out a nearby alpha. 

_ We’re on our way home _ , Derek sent as he slid into his car with the small cloth bag holding his ring box. He plugged his phone into the charger rigged up in his car, the screen lighting up with a series of excited emojis and half-formed sentences from Stiles.  _ See you soon, _ Derek typed quickly as he waited for Lydia, Scott, and Erica to buckle themselves in.  _ Love you _ . 

* * *

_ Someone revs the engine of their car, and the sound carries through the woods outside Derek’s recently constructed house. The noise jars him awake.  _

Derek sits up in bed with a howl that tears through the air like a blazing fire devouring gasoline in mere seconds. His claws and teeth drop, slashing the skin of his palms and tearing open his lower lip as Derek screams, his agonized screams sharp enough to chill bone. Tears flow like lava against his clammy skin, blurring his vision as his eyes burn as blue as the hottest flames. Derek’s stomach and chest clench, making it hard to catch a breath, and bitterly cold ice clings to his bones. 

Derek screams and tears into his mattress. He rips through the thick bed frame he and Stiles had chosen together until his fingers bleed. 

“ _ Stiles _ !” he roars, desperate and raw. The last wisps of his dreams are overwhelmed by the agonizing memory that’s tormented him for weeks as it plays behind his eyes, cruel and inescapable. 

Derek smelled Stiles before he saw him. Lydia, Erica, and Scott all cried out in shock when their alpha suddenly swerved his car and hit the curb, triggering the airbags and sending his newly purchased wedding band flying into the back seat. Derek didn’t hear them. All he could focus on was the irony stench of blood in the air, the short, shaky breaths of someone in their last minutes. “Stiles!” Derek screamed. Between one blink and the next, he was sprinting past an ambulance into the middle of a blockaded road. 

All he could see was red. “No,” he whispered, voice cracking as he distantly registered an EMT trying to drag him away from the scene. “No,” Derek repeated desperately, knocking the EMT aside without looking away from the ocean of crimson pooling on the road. 

Hazy, swollen brown eyes caught his, the pupils shifting as they struggled to focus. “Stiles,” Derek whispered brokenly, falling to his knees and dragging himself the last few feet to Stiles’ side. Blood soaked his clothes and clung to his skin, staining everything a wretched burgundy. Bruises coated him like paint on a wall, and every inch of skin was swollen and littered with cuts. The black pattern of a car tire stained his clothes and skin. Stiles’ wrists were broken, and his arms bent horrendously around his chest. A massive gash exposed far too much of the inner workings of his stomach, and one of his legs was bent and misshapen in three places. Derek choked on bile, turning away from the love of his life to vomit on the red stained pavement. His fangs cut his lip. 

Hit with a realization, the recollection of a serious conversation about the bite from years ago, Derek grabbed Stiles’ mangled wrist as delicately as he could and sunk his teeth into the flesh. When he pulled back, Stiles remained horribly, pitifully human. “No,” Derek sobbed, wrapping himself around the broken body of his love. “No, it has to work. You can’t die,” he pleaded, straining to listen to the slowing beat of Stiles’ heart. “Please, hold on. Just until the bite takes. Please,” Derek whispered, pulling back just enough to look into the eyes that he’d been in love with for five years. “I love you, Stiles,” he sobbed. “Please.” 

Stiles’ adam’s apple bobbed as he tried to respond, but all that came out was a gurgle of blood that spilled down his chin. Derek shook with tears and misery as he held Stiles tightly, draining as much pain as he could manage without passing out. 

“I love you,” Derek whimpered, wrapping himself tightly around Stiles even as his heart slowed to a stop. “Please, don’t go.” Lifeless brown eyes stared back at Derek. “ _ I need you _ .” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> whew. i'm not gonna lie i cried while i was writing the last scene. sorry for the traumatic plot twist, hope u enjoyed anyways. 
> 
> also i was trying a different, sort of old fashioned writing style with longer sentences that might have been confusing to read so i hope no one hated it. let me know what you think of it if u want
> 
> lastly, this poem fits with the story: 
> 
> you used to shine bright enough to illuminate the dark parts of my mind  
now it hurts to think of you  
sunbursts dance behind my eyes, my head pounds, and everything else good and beautiful fades to hazy, nebulous nothings  
before i wake up, alone  
and the darkness smothers me  
-s.h.


End file.
